


All the Time in the World

by bibliophileemily



Category: Beetlejuice (TV 1989)
Genre: 1990s, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Growing Up, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2020-07-08 13:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliophileemily/pseuds/bibliophileemily
Summary: Lydia discovers there is a terrible price for time spent in the Neitherworld, throwing her relationship with Beetlejuice in jeopardy. To what lengths will Beetlejuice go to keep their friendship?





	1. Chapter 1

Math class would not normally be a high point of Lydia's day, but today's lesson was especially grueling because Miss Shannon was absent, and the substitute teacher was paying little attention to the class. In any other class, this would be a good thing, but in geometry, Claire Brewster sat right behind Lydia so she had free reign over tormenting the less popular girl.

While Lydia absentmindedly drew a picture of the villain from the horror movie she'd watched last night, Claire looked over her shoulder and stifled a giggle.

"Like, omigawd," Claire whispered, "is it, like, possible for you to get any weirder?" She looked over at her friend Samantha and looped her finger around her ear several times—the gesture for "crazy." Samantha smirked at Lydia and scribbled a note to Claire. Upon reading it, Claire had to hide another mean snicker, and Lydia turned back to her geometry book with a sigh.

_Who cares about what they think?_ she thought, but she still pulled out her eraser and hastily began erasing Count Von Blargsworth before anyone else could see it. Glancing at the clock, she smiled a little: only two more hours until school was over, and she was free to visit the Neitherworld.

* * *

Lydia sighed and gazed at the Neitherworld sun sinking low in the sky.

"Today was a great day, BJ," she said, smiling at her companion. "But I've got to get back home and start studying for that geometry test."

"Aw, c'mon, Lyds," Beetlejuice cajoled. "Can't ya stay just a little longer?" He pulled an hourglass out of his pocket and waved it at Lydia. "Just say the word, Babes, and I'll buy us one more hour."

"Oh, OK," Lydia replied, laughing. "One more hour won't hurt."

Beetlejuice excitedly flipped the glass over, and the sun moved up several inches.

"Let's go get Doomie!"

Later, Lydia arrived home and cracked open her math book when someone knocked at her door.

"Lydia?" her father's quiet voice came through the door. "Pumpkin, your mother and I need to talk to you."

She put her pencil down and opened the door to her very pale, worried-looking parents.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Lydia…" Delia began. "Perhaps it's best if you sit down for this…"

* * *

"A car accident?" Beetlejuice only seemed interested in the gory details. "Couldn't have picked a better way to off her myself," he muttered.

"That's not funny, Beetlejuice!" Lydia shouted, her hands trembling. Of course, she'd never liked Claire, but she was still a classmate. Now, she was dead, dead before she could have that Sweet Sixteen birthday celebration she'd been yammering about since the beginning of high school. Lydia had sat numbly between Bertha and Prudence at the funeral; it had all seemed unreal until she saw Claire's mother sobbing uncontrollably.

For someone whose best friend was a ghost, Lydia had no idea how to confront death when facing it in her own world.

"It was so sad," she mused. "Even though she was so cruel to me, perhaps someday she could have changed."

Beetlejuice opened his mouth to make another wisecrack but shut it fast when he noticed tears running down Lydia's face.

"Listen, babes," he said, awkwardly attempting comfort, "death isn't so bad; trust me, I would know! Claire's probably fine."

Lydia's face visibly brightened. "Maybe she's in the Neitherworld! I'll bet Claire _hates_ it!"

"Yeah," Beetlejuice chimed in. "And you know the Neitherworld's only three B-words away…"

Lydia smiled, her tears gone.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

Although they searched diligently, two hours later, Lydia slumped against Doomie's dashboard.

"This is hopeless; the Neitherworld is just too big to ever find Claire."

"Cheer up, Babes," Beetlejuice said. "We can always go to the Hall of Records and try to find her."

Lydia gave him a weak smile. "OK, BJ." She pulled Doomie up to the door from the Neitherworld to the Otherworld. "I'm going home now; let me know what you find." She stepped up to the door, turned to wave, and was gone.

Beetlejuice sighed; he was always sorry to see Lydia go back to the Land of the Living.

"Well, come on, you hunk of junk," he said, pushing the gas pedal. With a honk of his horn, Doomie obligingly screeched forward.

Arriving back at the Roadhouse, Beetlejuice was surprised to see Jacques and Ginger waiting for him outside.

"No chance for juicing, huh?" he muttered before putting Doomie in the garage.

"Ah, Beetlejuice, we were hoping to see Lydia before she left," Jacques said.

"Oh, well," Ginger said, sidling back toward her home. "We'll just talk to her tomorrow."

"Yeah," Beetlejuice agreed. "Lydia always comes back."

* * *

The next morning, Beetlejuice and Doomie took off toward the Hall of Records to check the newest arrivals section for Claire.

He parked Doomie and hovered to the building, humming as he went.

The bell gave off a huge clang when he pushed the door open.

"Take a number," the receptionist droned. Beetlejuice took one look at the line of ghouls and rolled his eyes.

With a snap of his fingers, he was inside the record room; the walls were surrounded by huge filing cabinets. Another snap and the huge B cabinet sprang open.

Beetlejuice flipped through the files, smiling as he passed his own file, which was bulging with prank reports.

"Brahmun, Brandwire, Brewster!" He pulled out the folder and opened it.

* * *

Later that night, Beetlejuice showed up in Lydia's mirror.

"Babes… psst, hey, Babes!" he whispered, waking her up.

"Beetlejuice?" She sat up sleepily and rubbed her eyes.

"Lyds, let me out; it's important."

Yawning, Lydia said the required words as Beetlejuice plopped onto the foot of her bed, holding the file.

"What is it, Beej?"

"It's Claire's file," he said softly, almost as if he were scared. "It's got all the morbid details and everything."

Lydia frowned. "I am _not_ interested in the details. Everyone knows Claire died in a horrible car accident."

"That's what I was afraid of," Beetlejuice said. He held out the folder. Lydia took it.

"Al-alcohol poisoning?" she cried. "But that's not how Claire died at all!"

"Keep reading," Beetlejuice instructed, his look of concern growing deeper.

"Age eighteen?" Lydia nearly shouted. "But Claire wasn't even sixteen yet! What's going on?"

A single sheet of dark blue paper fell out of the file. Lydia hastily gathered it up and began to read before letting go of the page with a gasp.

"Lyds?" Beetlejuice grabbed the paper and began reading.

"The Neitherworld," Lydia whispered. "Due to time spent in the Neitherworld, appropriate time has been subtracted from expected lifetime."

Beetlejuice refused to meet Lydia's eyes.

"Beej…she's only been to the Neitherworld…"

"Not even a full week."

"Then…how?" Lydia tried to meet his eyes, but he still avoided her gaze.

"Each hour spent in the Neitherworld takes time off of a living person's lifespan," he mumbled. "I don't know the specifics, but it must be rather…"

Lydia put her head in her hands; what little color had been in her face was now long gone.

"I've been going to the Neitherworld since I was eleven…" The realization dawned in her eyes. "How… how long do I have?"

Beetlejuice couldn't answer.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day dragged on. Lydia sat listless by her mirror, waiting for Beetlejuice. She'd filled her notebook with two pages of doodles and poetry by the time his face appeared.

"Babes?"

Lydia sat at attention. "What did they say?" she asked frantically.

"Let me out, and I'll tell you."

She chanted the required words, and Beetlejuice popped out of the mirror.

"Here," he said, passing a letter to Lydia. "It's from Mayor Maynot; Prince Vince got too sad and couldn't handle writing it."

With trembling fingers, Lydia opened the letter.

"Banned from the Neitherworld?" she cried, sinking to the floor.

Beetlejuice's face fell; he'd had no idea the letter contained such orders.

"Oh, Beej…" Lydia cried, bursting into tears. "I can never go back! I didn't even get to say goodbye!"

"C'mon, Babes!" Beetlejuice said, putting an arm around her. "You're not gonna let a little letter like that stop you, are ya?"

Lydia thrust the letter into his face. "If I go back, I forfeit the remaining years of my life."

"What's wrong with that?" Beetlejuice said. "The Neitherworld is way more fun than this snooze-ville." A loud snore from outside shook Lydia's window, and Beetlejuice chuckled at the manifestation of his powers.

Lydia, however, was furious. "How could you even say that?" she shouted. "I love the Neitherworld, and I love my friends, and I love… visiting you, but… you realize what you're asking me to do?" Her voice softened. "I can't leave Bertha and Prudence. I could never do that to my family. And… I don't want to die. Not yet."

Beetlejuice was shocked. "You… you would rather stay here? With the living?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered. "Even if that means I won't see Jacques or Ginger or the Monster or Doomie…" She teared up at the mention of their beloved car.

"Lyds." Beetlejuice was torn. "You've still got years to live. I don't know how many since your lifespan's been halved, but…" He stared at his shoes. "It could be a really long time before you're dead."

Lydia sucked in her breath and stifled a sob. "I know."

"Even with those years taken off, it could be ten, twenty, thirty years!"

"I know."

"Lyds…"

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. "There's nothing stopping you from visiting me."

"You're right," he sighed. "You can summon me at any time, Babes."

Lydia flung herself into his arms. "Don't ever stop visiting me, Beetlejuice," she said. "I'm going to be so lonely until I die."

* * *

Lydia would look back on those words and laugh. Now that Claire was gone, the Brewster clique had dissolved, and there was no one left to torment her. Lydia was surprised to find that she had more friends than she thought; by the end of the school year, she was even moderately popular.

Every day for the first year, she raced home straight after school, waiting for Beetlejuice to appear in her mirror, and although she couldn't go to the Neitherworld, they still had fun together. But when Lydia was elected president of the Photography Club, she had to stay after school and work on club matters. On top of that, she was busy with classes, always had so much homework, and was developing an active social life.

Beetlejuice did his best to accommodate Lydia's busy schedule by only appearing in her mirror on Friday nights, which they usually spent together; he never missed a Friday, and so far, neither had Lydia.

In early June, Beetlejuice appeared as usual.

"Hey, babes! How'd the last day of school go?"

"It was a nice day," Lydia replied, pulling her hair up. "I got to see my grades--all A's and B's!"

"Bees?" Beetlejuice said excitedly, a buzzing sound coming from his pocket. "Best grade I can think of."

"That's nice, BJ," Lydia said absently while going into her closet.

"So, what are we gonna do to celebrate?" he asked expectantly. "I've got some sombreros and calypso music set up, or we could go to Burp or Prune's house and set up some pranks or something, or—"

"Actually," Lydia's muffled voice cut him off, "I can't go out tonight."

"What?" Beetlejuice was crushed. "But, babes, it's Friday!"

"I know," Lydia answered, "but I was invited to an end-of-year party."

"A party?" Beetlejuice asked. "Did you say you'd go?"

"I did." Lydia opened her closet door to reveal the elaborate black dress she was wearing. "Well, what do you think? It took me a month to get it all done."

"That's… uh… quite a dress," Beetlejuice stammered, jaw agape. "Pretty fancy for a bunch of girls sitting around drinking punch."

Lydia flushed. "Actually, Samantha's invited a bunch of boys from St. Christopher's, so there'll be dancing…"

Beetlejuice winced and started to say something, but Delia's voice ripped through the wall.

"Oh, Lydia," she called. "Are you ready for the party yet?"

"Coming, Mother," Lydia called back before turning to Beetlejuice and giving him a hug.

"Want me to show up at your party?" he asked, a little reluctant to let go.

Lydia made a face and shook her head 'no.' "You should probably go; I'll see you later, OK?"

"When?" Beetlejuice asked, but Lydia was already opening her bedroom door to let her mother in; he had no choice but to juice himself back to the Neitherworld.

"Oh, you're dressed already?" Delia said as she came in, concern written all over her face. "Honey, don't you think it would be better if you wore something with a bit more… color?"

Lydia stared into the mirror, half-wondering if her reflection would change into her best friend's face, but she only saw the dress she'd been sewing for the past two weeks. Off-the-shoulder sleeves were difficult to sew to corset bodices, and the skirt's tiers had been tedious, but the dress exactly matched the picture she'd drawn last month.

"No, Mother; I want to wear this one." She attached the spider brooch Beetlejuice had given her four years ago to a velvet ribbon around her neck. "How do I look?"

Delia merely turned to her husband, who had come to see how his daughter looked for her first co-ed party.

"Charles, darling, I think I need a drink."


	3. Chapter 3

At the Roadhouse, Beetlejuice paced the living room while Jacques looked on.

"Perhaps the situation was one that you could not attend, Beetlejuice," Jacques said. "Do not let it trouble you!"

Beetlejuice didn't reply but merely continued pacing.

"It's all that Claire's fault," he muttered. "Dying and making Lydia have friends…"

"Beetlejuice," Jacques began. "Shouldn't you be happy that Lydia is making new friends?"

Beetlejuice whirled around, his face contorted in anger. "Get outta here!" he roared, prompting Jacques to run out the door with his bony arms flailing. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, Beetlejuice flopped onto the sofa and flicked on the TV.

"Welcome back to 'The Lice's Right!'" blared from the screen; Beetlejuice had just conjured up some jarred beetles as a snack when someone knocked from the door.

"Never fails…" Beetlejuice growled, mumbling some choice words about someone named Murphy. He slammed the door open and shrieked, "What?"

"Like, how rude!"

Immediately, his demeanor changed when he recognized the voice and saw the person it belonged to standing behind the door.

"Like, even if you are that creepy Lydia's best friend, you, like, totally stink," droned none other than a very dead Claire Brewster.

Beetlejuice was speechless, literally--the words that were forming in his head popped out and vanished. Even in her newly dead state, Claire was still the bratty princess that had ruled Miss Shannon's School for Girls and tormented Lydia.

He slammed the door in her face.

Claire, however, would not be ignored that easily.

"You, like, can't do that! You, like, have no idea how long I've been, like, looking for you! I have something important to, like, tell you about Lydia!"

The door cracked open.

"You don't say?"

* * *

Lydia arrived at the party fifteen minutes early; her father had insisted on meeting Samantha's parents and making sure they would stay home for the entire evening.

"Dad, I'm sixteen already," Lydia groaned.

"Now, Pumpkin, your mother and I just want to make sure you're safe." Charles gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Have fun."

Once her parents were gone, Lydia and Samantha, who'd came down the stairs wearing what looked like a bathing suit cover-up made of gold lamé, stared at each other.

"Wow, Lydia, that's… some dress," Samantha offered.

"Yours too," Lydia replied.

"So," Samantha said to cover up the silence. "Want to play a CD?" She gestured to a stack of CDs and tapes next to their players. "Pick whatever you want."

Lydia held up a tape of Spanish flamenco.

"Oh, that's my mom's," Samantha said. "How about I choose?"

Within half an hour, Lydia was utterly sick of the same poppy Madonna songs and of hearing one more girl wonder how to pronounce Prince's new name-symbol. Fortunately, Bertha and Prudence had also arrived by then and were all too willing to keep Lydia company.

"That's the fourth cup of punch that boy with the bow tie has gotten all night," Bertha pointed out.

Lydia smiled. "Why don't you go talk to him?"

"I don't know, Lydia." Bertha was suddenly shy. "He doesn't seem very interested in talking."

"Well, you never know 'til you try," Lydia replied, gently pushing Bertha toward the snack table. The boy with the bow tie looked up at Bertha, the sense of mixed fear and relief plain on his face.

Meanwhile, Prudence powered through the other guests to go talk to Brian Byrd, St. Christopher's valedictorian.

Lydia smiled as she shook her head. Who knew Prudence could be so bold?

She went to get some more punch, but a young man grabbed the ladle before she could.

"Allow me," he said, refilling her cup.

Lydia looked up into soft brown eyes; they belonged to a boy with a handsome, smiling face. Lydia was momentarily speechless but quickly remembered her manners.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," the boy said. "Would you like to dance?"

"Dance?" Lydia stared at the area where the other guests were dancing; she wasn't surprised to see Bertha and the bow-tied boy already cutting a rug to some swing music. "Uh, sure!" She gulped down her punch and threw the cup in the trash before taking the boy's extended hand.

* * *

Beetlejuice just stared at Claire in shock. His ears were surprisingly clean of wax and other gunk, and Claire's loud voice hadn't stumbled over any of the words, but he was still having trouble understanding exactly _what_ she had just told him.

"What d'you mean, 'likes' her?" he asked. "You say that word so much, I can never figure out what you mean!"

Claire sighed dramatically. "Ugh, like, you know, _like_!" she shouted.

"Valley Girl slang," Beetlejuice muttered to himself. "You know _I_ hate it!"

"Like, my point is," Claire continued. "Even though Antonio is totally, like, the cutest boy at St. Christopher's, he, like, never even talked to me or Sam or, like, any of us. It's, like, totally unfair for him to, like, _like_ that horrible Lydia!"

Beetlejuice didn't register the slight on Lydia because he was so absorbed in this new problem. Someone "liking" Lydia? Impossible! She was _his_ friend! Not to mention she was much too young for all that "crushing" nonsense…

"Like, I don't know what you are going to, like, do about it," Claire droned, interrupting his thoughts. "But that party started, like, two hours ago. So, you know, it's, like, the perfect time for him to, like, start putting on the moves."

Beetlejuice froze. The moves? As far as he was concerned, Lydia was in danger. Who knew what kind of character this Antonio was?

Before Claire could say another "like," Beetlejuice had shoved her out the door and popped over to the Otherworld.


	4. Chapter 4

The punch bowl was striped. No, that couldn't be right; it had been plastic with gaudy Technicolor flowers.

Lydia had been dancing for about five songs now; maybe all the adrenaline was affecting her eyesight. After all, this _was_ her first time dancing with a boy. She bit her lip and looked at the bowl; it looked perfectly normal. But still…

"Antonio?"

"Please, Lydia," the smiling brown-eyed boy said. "Call me Tony."

"OK. Tony, not to be rude, but I really have to go…" She eyed the punch bowl again; had she imagined it?

As Lydia disentangled her hands from Tony's and moved towards the snack table, a scream from the bathroom started her running in that direction.

"Prudence?" she shouted as she ran up to the bathroom and banged on the door. "Prudence, are you all right?"

The door opened with a soaking wet Prudence glumly trudging out of the bathroom.

Lydia gasped. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Prudence began slowly, as if still confused, "but when I was washing my hands, the faucet went crazy and sprayed me." She glanced down. "And this was a brand-new dress too…"

Fortunately, Samantha was discreet enough of a hostess that she was able to provide some towels and a change of clothes, and, much to Prudence's delight, Brian Byrd offered to drive her home.

Lydia, however, was furious. Locking herself in the bathroom, she stared at the mirror.

"I know you're here. Don't make me summon you."

There was no response. Lydia gripped the edge of the counter with shaking hands.

"Beetle—"

Beetlejuice's face instantly popped into the mirror.

"Uh, hey, babes," he said, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to give Prune a shower. Just trying to get out without getting my hair wet… since I'm against bein' clean, ya know."

Lydia scowled. "I can't believe you. I told you I was going to a party, my first dance party."

"I know, but Lyds, you always let me crash your parties," he said, crashing through the mirror and instantly reforming it. "I just wanted to—"

"You don't understand! You can't just show up whenever you want! People might notice something!"

"You never cared if I showed up before!"

"Well, I do now! I care now because… never mind." She turned away and crossed her arms over her chest. "You wouldn't understand."

"Hey, Lyds… I'm—"

"Beetlejuice, I want you to go away for a bit." She squeezed her arms closer together. "I'll talk to you when I get back home."

"OK," Beetlejuice said. "Whatever you want, I mean… yeah." He vanished immediately, leaving Lydia to compose herself before rejoining the party.

* * *

When Lydia's parents picked up her up, they were pleased to see her being escorted back to the car by Antonio, who politely introduced himself to them before saying goodbye to their daughter. As far as they could tell, the night had gone well.

On the way back, however, Lydia was silent, arms folded across her chest, staring absently out the window. When they got home, she ran into her room and, bursting into tears, flung herself on the bed.

Beetlejuice, feeling terrible, appeared in the mirror and watched her for a while.

"Babes?"

Lydia looked up and began sobbing harder.

"Go away! Just go!" she wailed, and Beetlejuice had no choice but to obey her.

Lydia passed the rest of the night alone and absolutely miserable.

The next morning, she didn't come down for breakfast; instead, she resolutely faced her mirror.

"We need to talk."

He appeared reluctantly. Lydia neither screamed nor yelled; she just seemed tired, and for some reason, that scared Beetlejuice more than if she'd been loud. Lydia didn't get angry often, but when she did, she was more likely to vocalize it. This silence unnerved him.

"Beetlejuice, how old am I?" she asked.

He was at a loss for words; how was he supposed to remember that?

"Um…twelve?"

"That's about how old I was when I met you. I'm sixteen now."

"Really? I guess I didn't notice…"

"That's the problem; you have no sense of the passage of time. We've been friends for five years, and this whole time, I've been growing and changing and you…" She paused. "You're dead; you can't change. But I'm alive. I'm going to change. I've already changed so much."

"I can't help being dead, Lyds."

Lydia stared at the floor; for the first time in her life, she was having trouble explaining to Beetlejuice exactly just what was wrong. He wasn't juicing her parents or friends maliciously, he wasn't walking around in front of the living and blowing his cover, and he wasn't being mean to her; why was she so frustrated? Why was it so difficult to say what was locked inside her heart?

"I know you're dead. I think you forget that I'm still alive." Beetlejuice started to sputter something in protest, but Lydia held up her hand. "It's not your fault, though, and I understand that. But, Beej, I'm not the same little girl anymore. I've got school and clubs and college to think about, and—"

"College?" Beetlejuice was shocked. "You're not old enough to go to college!"

"No, but I _am_ a junior in high school. Colleges pay the most attention to junior year."

"I guess I just never figured you'd go." He fiddled with the lapel of his coat, missing the hurt look on Lydia's face. "So does that mean… when you're in college, you're not going to come home and spend time with me on Fridays?"

"I don't know." Lydia looked down, tracing her finger on the top of her vanity. "I want to go to college in New York. It's not that far away, but I'll probably be busy most Fridays. I'll have classes, there might be club meetings..." She looked up. "Or I could have a date."

Both froze; Lydia wasn't even sure she'd said those words until she saw the look on Beetlejuice's face.

"A date?" he said, his words poisoning the silence. "You want to go on _dates_?"

"I-I don't know," Lydia stammered. "I just…"

"You know what? It's a good thing I went to that party," Beetlejuice said dangerously. "Claire warned me about this."

"You saw Claire?" Lydia asked, but Beetlejuice kept talking without hearing her.

"She told me that there was a boy who "liked" you; I didn't understand it then, but I sure as heck understand now! If anyone thinks he can get to go on a date with my Lydia, he'll have to go through the ghost with the MOST!" he screamed as smoke and flames began spewing from his mouth and ears.

"Beetlejuice, stop!" Lydia said. She was honestly frightened; she'd never seen him this angry before. "Tony's a really nice boy!"

Immediately, he deflated. "'A nice boy?' You'd rather hang out with a nice boy instead of me?"

"That isn't what I said!"

"Well, it sure didn't sound like you were saying you wouldn't go on a date with him!"

Now it was Lydia's turn to be angry again. "It's none of your business with whom I go on a date or if I date at all! Why do you even care so much?"

"I don't want you to go date him or anybody! I just want things to stay the same!" Beetlejuice shouted.

"Well, Beetlejuice," Lydia said, her eyes cold with fury. "Things aren't going to be the same. I'm going to keep growing up and changing until I die one day, and with every single year, things will be different. I'll move to a new city, I'll get a new job, and yes, I'll even get new friends if I have to. I certainly don't need friends who won't give me room to grow."

"Lyds, I didn't…" he began, but Lydia kept going.

"Beetlejuice. I want you to go away. I never want to see you again—"

"No, Lyds, don't say it!"

"—as long as I live."

The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them, but it was too late. He'd vanished, and no amount of summoning, no matter what sort of magic she tried, could ever bring him back.


	5. Chapter 5

Life went on, as it always does, but Beetlejuice was not alive. When he returned to the Roadhouse, he didn't even notice Jacques and Ginger's worried questions; he shut himself up in his room and refused to come out.

Everything made him angry: the pictures on the wall, the moldy food in his refrigerator, the rumpled mess of blankets in his coffin. Everything was out of place; nothing seemed to be right. He was too confused to see that the mess was the exact same mess that had been there since he moved into the Roadhouse. It had been Lydia's presence that made it all seem right.

It was just a stupid fight, he reasoned. They'd had fights before; he knew how to fix this. He'd go back over to her mirror, say something about how he wouldn't make her mad again, and she'd forget about being angry and let him out. Everything would go back to normal. Everything would be the same again.

He waited a week before he tried to cross over and see her. The Friday after she'd banished him, he popped back into her mirror and rejoiced when he saw her staring right into it.

"Babes, it's me!" he cried. "I promise I won't bug you about dating again! Let me out!"

But Lydia didn't respond. Beetlejuice's literal manifestation of power had struck again. As long as Lydia was alive, she would never see him again, whether he was there or not.

For once, Beetlejuice was struck with the inability to apologize due to circumstance rather than stubbornness; unable to cope, he'd fled back to the embrace of the Roadhouse, refusing to come out again.

Years passed as he remained stagnate in his coffin. At first, he tried to shut out what had happened. Denial was his usual medicine; if he pretended everything was the way it was, maybe everything really was the same. But he couldn't escape completely. Whenever he woke up from his fitful bursts of sleep, realization would set in, and he would sink back into a deep depression.

At last he began to think about what had happened. _Lydia had driven him away. Lydia made him leave. Lydia no longer wanted to be his friend._ These thoughts continued to drift through his mind as, over and over, the last words Lydia had spoken kept playing like a broken record.

_I want you to go away. I never want to see you again as long as I live._

* * *

One day, he got up. Maybe someone had knocked on the door, or maybe it was just a passing whim, but he decided it was time to do something else. That's the funny thing about eternity; everything, even wallowing, eventually gets boring.

He walked out of his bedroom, out of the roadhouse, and out to his mailbox, which was bulging with several years' worth of Neitherworld junk mail.

"That's a lot of mail," he said before juicing himself and the contents back to his living room.

Sorting the mail was a mundane task, but it gave him something to think about other than what had happened. The majority of it was junk mail: advertisements for new scream shops, and the like, but one leaflet in particular caught his eye.

"New Arrivals" it said, and there was a picture of the Deetz family in the center of it.

In a panic, Beetlejuice read, "We are pleased to welcome Mr. Charles Deetz of Peaceful Pines, CT, to the Afterlife. He is regrettably survived by his wife Delia (whose art caused a sensation here in the Neitherworld back in '91) and daughter Lydia. As Charles adjusts to his new circumstances, we ask particular kindness to him on account of his nervous condition."

"Guess poor Chuck's heart couldn't take it anymore," he said aloud. He didn't want to think about if time spent in the Neitherworld had anything to do with Charles's death.

His eyes kept returning to the photograph of the family. While Charles and Delia looked pretty much the same, he had a hard time believing the other person in the photograph was Lydia. She looked so different, older and more mature than when he'd last seen her. Beetlejuice couldn't tell how old she was exactly, but he could hazard a guess and figured he'd been in his room for at least half a decade. Surely Lydia had forgotten him by now.

He slumped down on the couch, miserable. Lydia couldn't see him, so she'd grown up and forgotten about him and probably had a wonderful life without him. That was just how it would go, wasn't it?

A thought struck him. What was the point of staying here and never knowing for sure? He'd certainly never heard her summon him, but knowing what had happened, perhaps she'd never tried.

He had to see her; after five years, maybe his powers had worn off. Maybe she'd see him again. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't even be angry with him anymore, and it would just be like old times.

With a snap, he popped over to the Otherworld and slipped into her mirror like a warm bath of mud. For a moment, he thought he had the wrong room; it was completely rearranged and decorated very differently. Gone was the spiral rug in the center of the room; new green bedding and curtains had replaced the old spider decorations Lydia had once had.

Voices floated up the stairs, and Beetlejuice quickly disguised himself as a spider on the edge of the mirror. The door opened and a woman walked in. Beetlejuice had to do a double take before he realized that she was Lydia! He would never have recognized her if he hadn't seen the picture in the newsletter. Her hair was long, past her shoulders, and she'd grown out her bangs. Although she was still short and slim, there were slight curves that hinted at newly gained womanhood. Beetlejuice was shocked to realize that if he didn't know it was his Lydia, he would have probably made a pass at her or at least leered appreciatively; his own thoughts disturbed him.

She pulled a suitcase out of the closet and started packing from her old dresser. At one point, she looked in the mirror; Beetlejuice waved his spider legs at her, hoping she would notice, but she just tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and resumed packing.

"Lydia?" said an anxious-looking man standing in the doorway. She didn't look up.

"You can come in."

"You didn't return my phone call. I heard you were in town for… for the—"

"For the funeral?" she asked. 

The man flinched at her bluntness and nodded.

"I'm leaving tonight," she explained. "I have to get back to New York."

"I see. Then you wouldn't have time… I was hoping we could get coffee, maybe talk about—"

Lydia's face was utterly expressionless when she turned to look at him. "Tony, my father just died. I can't have this conversation with you right now."

"Lydia…"

"Just call me later. Tomorrow." She returned to her packing.

"This can't wait until tomorrow," Tony said, visibly distressed. "I can't keep calling every day hoping I'll get you and not the machine, you know? Just come with me tonight; let's talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Lydia sighed, more out of exhaustion than anger. "We're done. I can't give you what you want."

" _You_ are what I want!" Tony cried as he moved towards her. "But you keep yourself closed off from me no matter what I do!"

Beetlejuice realized the uncomfortable intimacy of the moment and retreated to the kitchen. Delia was sitting at the table, sobbing quietly. Beetlejuice felt dirtier than usual, like he'd tracked mud into the house; he didn't belong anymore.

After a moment, Tony came down the stairs and joined Delia in the kitchen.

"What did she say?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"She won't listen to me. She's dead-set on going back tonight." He hung his head. "I offered to drive her, but she turned me down."

Hearing this, Beetlejuice popped back into Lydia's mirror. She was sitting on her bed staring straight at him. He made a face, hoping for a reaction, but she didn't—couldn't—see him. Suddenly, she began to cry.

"I wish you were here," she whispered. "You'd tell me it was OK. I just wish I could see you one more time." Beetlejuice figured she was talking about her dad, but then she said his name in such a heart-breaking tone of voice that he immediately flew to her side and held her tight, even though she couldn't feel it.

"Babes, I'll never leave you again! I'll find some way to get back to you; don't you worry!"

* * *

Lydia's trip back to Peaceful Pines had been mostly uneventful. Few people came to her father's funeral. Bertha and Prudence had been awkward around her; neither of them had lost a parent. Lydia felt hollow. She missed her father, but he'd died peacefully in his sleep. It was how he would have wanted to go, and Lydia was grateful for that.

Her conversation with Tony, however, had not gone as well. It was no secret that he'd spent the last year since they'd broken up trying to get back together with her. Lydia often came home to an answering machine filled with messages from him calling and hanging up, but she never called him back. She knew she couldn't give him the commitment he wanted, not with the secret knowledge of her impending death looming over her, so when he'd taken her to the Hilton that night with a bottle of champagne and a jewelry-box-shaped bulge in his pocket, she'd cut and run and not looked back. Her friends all thought she was bitter about the breakup, and she'd never bothered to correct them.

The overnight ride back to the city was long and soothing, and despite her restless mind, Lydia soon found herself rocked to sleep by the movements of the bus. Beetlejuice, meanwhile, possessing a small compact mirror, was packed away in her suitcase, madly thinking of a plan to finally get out and make her see him again. He was certain there was a way; if anyone could figure it out, it would be the ghost with the most!

* * *

Lydia didn't wear makeup very often. When she finally opened the compact a week later, Beetlejuice sprang out and immediately began to survey the surroundings. Lydia's apartment was tiny; the entire place was only about the size of her room back in Peaceful Pines. There was a futon couch in the center, a closet-sized bathroom, a kitchenette tucked in the corner, and blackout curtains on the only window. Judging by the chemicals on the countertop and the red lightbulb, the place doubled as a makeshift darkroom.

He turned his attention back to Lydia, who was carefully applying lipstick. She checked her appearance in the mirror once more before grabbing a black portfolio and setting out.

Beetlejuice followed her around New York City, watching as she showed her portfolio at six different agencies that morning. It wasn't a promising day; Lydia felt no more optimistic about finding a publisher anytime soon. Working at her college's bookstore was just enough for groceries, but she wanted to be able to pay the rent on her own--her scholarship money wouldn't last forever. Besides, she had other, more selfish reasons for wanting her photography published at such a young age.

She sighed and walked faster; if she didn't get back to the subway in the next five minutes, she'd miss the next train and be late for class.

Beetlejuice still trailed behind her, noting her every action. Lydia was clearly unhappy, and not just because her work kept being rejected. As he followed her into class, at work, during her meager excuse for a dinner, he could plainly see the loneliness written all over her face.

Does she even have any friends? he wondered. There were a few of the customers in the bookstore who tried to make small-talk with her, but she couldn't seem to put out the effort to meet them halfway. She was almost like a walking ghost, and with a pang of remorse, Beetlejuice realized that he had caused this. Lydia knew she was going to die, so she'd already begun cutting her ties to this world. He remembered his offer for her to come straight to the Neitherworld and cringed. As much as he enjoyed the afterlife, he could clearly understand why a woman in the prime of her youth would be unwilling to give up living; how could he have been so stupid then?

As Lydia fell asleep on her futon couch to the comforting sounds of a monster movie marathon, Beetlejuice was suddenly struck with an idea; not everyone could see the dead, but the dead _could_ interact with the living though less orthodox ways. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew the terrible price he'd have to pay if he got caught breaking the strictest rule placed on the dead.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a crisp September morning, and for Lydia, it began early. She had a meeting with a publisher before her shift in the bookstore started, and then she was hoping to steal away to Central Park and take a few shots of the first changing leaves.

Once on the train to the publishing agency, she clutched her portfolio to her chest. She felt, somehow, that this was her last chance.

Beetlejuice, invisible in the seat next to her, was preoccupied. He had no moral qualms about his plan, but he was beginning to worry that it wouldn't work.

After getting off the train and walking a block to a tall skyscraper, Lydia rode the elevator to the ninth floor. When she made it to the receptionist at the front desk, her hands were shaking.

"How can I help you?" the receptionist said not unkindly.

"My name is Lydia Deetz. I have an appointment with Richard."

"Let me go get him for you."

She sat down in an uncomfortable plastic chair to wait; a young man sitting in the chair across from her looked at her sympathetically.

"Trying for _The City_?" he asked. Lydia nodded. "Well, good luck," he continued. "I hear they're tough."

"Miss Deetz?" the receptionist called.

"That's me… thank you," Lydia said to the man before gathering her things and going to meet the manager.

Beetlejuice elected to stay behind. He'd just found the key to his plan; it was time to go to work.

* * *

Lydia left the office disappointed; the manager had agreed to hold onto her work, but he hadn't sounded very excited about it. It was another unfavorable meeting.

"Miss Deetz! Miss Deetz!" someone called after her as she left. It was the man from the waiting room.

"Hello… did I forget something?"

"Yeah, you left your Metro Card on your seat," the man said, holding it out to her.

"Oh, thank you!" Lydia exclaimed, taking it and turning to go.

"Wait!" the man cried. "How did it go?"

Lydia seemed genuinely confused. "How did what go?"

"The meeting. Did they like your work?"

"Oh…" She was struck by the kindness of this stranger, who seemed to care about whether or not things had gone well for her. "I'm not sure; they're holding onto my work, but I doubt they'll actually use it."

"They held onto your work?" He laughed. "I've been writing for years, and they've never agreed to 'hold onto my work' without publishing it! You'll be fine!"

"You really think so?" Lydia asked. "I mean, I didn't submit writing; I'm a photographer."

"Really? A photographer? Can I see some of your work?"

"Um, sure!" They moved over to a bus stop bench so Lydia could open her portfolio. "No one's ever asked about my photography before."

"That's a shame," the man said as he looked over the first prints. "These are excellent!"

Lydia felt herself blushing despite her best efforts to check her pride. "They're my best ones; I took them two years ago."

As the man looked through her various photographs, the bus pulled up. Lydia casually glanced at it, then jumped when she realized which bus it was.

"What time is it?"

The man checked his watch.

"10:15."

"I have work at 11; I'll never make it in time!"

"I'll call you a cab."

"Oh, no, I couldn't..."

"Don't worry, I'll pay."

"But I just met you… I don't even know your name!"

The man looked at her. "It's Benjamin."

Realizing she didn't have any other options, Lydia decided to take him up on his offer. He hailed a cab like a city native and opened the door for her.

"Thank you so much, Benjamin," Lydia said as she stepped into the cab. "I want to do something to repay you."

"Sounds good," he replied. "Can I give you my number?"

Lydia nodded, and he scribbled it onto a slip of paper before depositing it and a wad of cash into her hands.

"For the cab, Miss Deetz. I look forward to hearing from you." He shut the door.

As the cab started up and began moving into the thick city traffic, Lydia rolled down the window and called out to him, "You can call me Lydia!"

Beetlejuice, possessing the body of the man he called "Benjamin," watched her leave.

"I know, Babes. I know."

Possession was a risky procedure; to do it successfully, one had to keep in mind the behaviors, body language, and speech patterns of the person being possessed. There was an art to picking the brain for just the right information, finding the details and trivia that made up a person, but Beetlejuice was a master at this. He had access to the entire mind of one Gerald Harper, age 23, freelance writer; he knew his address, his phone numbers, and the current balance of his checkbook. He saw memories of the man's sixth birthday party, his first kiss, the first funeral he'd attended, everything, all there to be skimmed and analyzed and used for Beetlejuice's benefit.

In the case of a normal possession, Beetlejuice would only use the body to wreak havoc, scaring people and enacting just general haunting, but in this case, he was using the body as a vehicle to interact with the living. To interact with Lydia.

It was a huge risk to take: while Neitherworld citizens could obtain special permission to visit the land of the living, possession of the living was expressly forbidden and was one of the worst crimes a dead man could commit. Offenders were punished severely, and Beetlejuice, with his already long list of crimes, could not afford to get caught, or he would be sent straight to the sandworms. He couldn't make any mistakes this time.

* * *

Lydia didn't know why she was so nervous; it was just a phone call! A phone call to a very kind and very attractive man who had liked her work and given her way too much money for a cab ride, but still... just a phone call.

Lydia picked the phone up again; she had to thank him somehow. She couldn't repay him the cab fare, but she could offer to bring him with her on the photo shoot she had planned.

She dialed quickly. It rang four times before going straight to voicemail.

"Hello, you've reached Gerald Harper. Please leave your message after the tone."

Lydia hung up. Gerald? Had Benjamin given her the wrong number? She looked at the slip of paper. No one gave someone that much money for a cab ride and also gave a fake number. Perhaps he had a roommate.

She called again and hurriedly left a message asking Benjamin to meet her at Central Park at four o'clock.

Hanging up the phone, she looked around the bookstore; it was busy with students rushing about preparing for the beginning of the semester. She walked back to the counter and moved the "Closed" sign off her register; at least the wait to meet Benjamin would go by quickly.


	7. Chapter 7

Beetlejuice had been to Central Park before, but never in a living body. He breathed in the scent of dying leaves and fountain water and the pretzel stand across the way, then suppressed a shiver from the chill in the air. It was completely different from haunting.

He found Lydia standing next to the fountain, facing the opposite direction. He watched for a moment; he still had trouble believing this grown-up woman was the same little girl with whom he'd shared so many adventures.

When she turned and spotted him, she smiled and waved, which he took as his cue to join her.

"Oh, good, you got my message!" she said. "I was worried you wouldn't come or that I'd dialed the wrong number… here." She handed him back the change from her cab ride. "Thank you so much, Benjamin. I would have never made it to work on time if you hadn't helped. I'm so glad you're giving me this chance to repay you."

"No problem," Benjamin replied. "Just let me know how I can help you with your shoot."

Lydia's eyes were shining. "Let's start with some shots here and then work our way towards the Ramble; I brought three rolls of film, so I really want to cover a lot of ground."

"Sounds perfect."

As they made their way through Central Park, Lydia surprised herself by doing most of the talking. Benjamin was keenly interested in her latest exploits, and she felt drawn to sharing more and more with him.

"And last spring, I did a set of headless mannequins for my end of year project. I got an A, but I don't think my professor really understood it."

"Really?"

"She praised my critique of the public's mindless following of trends," Lydia continued, looking somewhat bashful. "But I was actually inspired by _The Return of the Guillotine: Marie's Revenge_."

"Some teachers…" Benjamin said, shaking his head. "Great taste in movies, by the way."

"You've seen _The Guillotine_ series?"

Benjamin nodded.

"Wow, I've never met anyone else who's seen them! I know they're silly, but I grew up watching those sorts of films."

They stopped so Lydia could catch a few shots of some autumn leaves falling and then moved to a park bench.

"It's getting dark," Benjamin observed. "Have you used up the last roll of film yet?"

"No, there's room for a few more."

Benjamin turned his head, saying, "Oh?" only to hear the click of the shutter.

"Got it!"

"What was that for?" Benjamin pouted. "I wasn't ready!"

"Well, I needed a shot of you, since you've been such a big help to me today," Lydia explained. "Besides, I prefer candid over posed, so I had to catch you off guard."

"I still think you should have warned me…"

"Here," she said, thrusting the camera into his hands. "We'll make it even; take one of me. There's just enough film left for that."

Benjamin cradled the instrument uneasily and looked at her.

"OK, face this way."

Lydia obediently turned and looked somberly at the camera.

"OK, smile."

"I don't smile for pictures," she said. "Unless the photographer makes me laugh."

"Oh…" Benjamin looked around. "Then look over there."

Lydia followed his gaze to see a man eating a hot dog.

"What's so funny about him?" she asked.

Using his powers, Beetlejuice made the hot dog squirt into the man's face, covering him with mustard. Just as Lydia giggled, he snapped the picture.

"Perfect," he said. "With that, I'd say the shoot is over."

"I guess so," Lydia replied. She was reluctant to have her meeting with Benjamin end. "Thank you so much for all your help today. Are you sure I can't repay you in some way?"

"You already have," he answered. "I had a wonderful time."

"As did I."

"You know," Benjamin shuffled his feet on the ground. "I don't have to go home. It would be really nice if you would join me for dinner."

Lydia's smile widened. "I'd love that."

* * *

They talked all through dinner and throughout the entire bus ride back to Lydia's neighborhood. Later, in a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, they warmed their hands around steaming mugs of cocoa and cider. Lydia laughed until her sides hurt as Benjamin recounted make-believe stories from his false childhood. She even told him a few stories from her own past—he recognized veiled references to his own self and smiled to hear her reminisce about their happy times together.

"What happened to him?" he found himself asking.

Lydia paused. "We had a fight," she finally began. "It was stupid and immature, but I haven't seen him since." She gripped her cider harder. "I never got the chance to apologize."

A long silence ensued.

"That's awful," Benjamin said. "But maybe you'll be able to make up with him someday."

"I hope so," Lydia sighed.

At this point, the coffee shop's owner had to come over and ask them to leave so that he could close. They hurriedly finished their drinks and left.

"I can't believe it's almost midnight!" Lydia said as the shop door closed behind her. "I was hoping to start developing some of the pictures from our shoot, but it's too late now."

"Oh, come on; aren't you in college?" Benjamin scoffed. "You don't stay up late most nights?"

Lydia shook her head. "Not tonight. I have work early in the morning."

"I can respect that."

The air outside the coffee shop was cold and windy. Benjamin wordlessly offered Lydia his coat, which she gratefully accepted; she surprised him by taking his arm as well.

"Walk me home?"

"Sure."

After having so much to talk about over cocoa, the walk to Lydia's apartment was quiet. There was an easy sense of comfort the two of them felt as they walked the seventeen blocks back, but at the same time, each was secretly studying the other's actions and trying to figure out what they would do when they got there.

When they reached the lobby of the building, Benjamin was ready to take his coat back and leave, but before he could do so, Lydia gripped his arm harder.

"Wanttocomeup?" she mumbled, her head ducked to hide her embarassment.

They climbed the stairs wordlessly, both of them trying to figure out what this meant, both afraid that the other thought this meant _that_.

"Come in," Lydia said nervously as she unlocked the door. "It's not much, but it's a place to live."

She directed him to the couch and put a kettle on a hot plate to make tea.

"Want to watch a movie?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

"I'd love that," Benjamin replied, causing them both to breathe a sigh of relief. It was just a movie.

But Lydia couldn't deny that the hint of attraction she'd felt this morning when she'd first met Benjamin was growing much stronger. There was something so _familiar_ about him; it was comforting, too, to talk to a guy who didn't push, who wasn't pressuring her for a commitment. Couldn't she just enjoy a friendship without feelings getting in the way?

The moment that thought ran through her mind, she knew where she'd gone wrong. Even years later, she was ashamed of the emotions that had raged through her as a sixteen-year-old. Who fell in love with her best friend? No, she had to do one better: who fell in love with her _dead_ best friend?

Lydia tried not to remember those troubling feelings; she'd been burying them for so long it was almost natural. When she and Tony had dated, she'd tried to substitute him for Beetlejuice, but it hadn't worked.

But now, with Benjamin, she didn't feel like he was a substitute; she didn't feel like she was pretending. She didn't even feel strange for feeling the first buds of affection flow out towards him, this stranger whom she felt she'd known her entire life.

That was odd, now that she thought about it. What were the odds of meeting a stranger who listened this well? What was wrong with trying? She had nothing to lose, so why shouldn't she take the chance while she could?

"Benjamin?" she said softly.

He turned around, movie in hand, and before Lydia could think twice about what she was doing, she leaned forward and kissed him.

It was brief, not even a full five seconds, and ended abruptly when the tape slid out of Benjamin's hands and clattered to the floor.

"The movie!" Lydia said, but Benjamin grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a second kiss.

The moment seemed to stretch on, but neither of them noticed. Twining his fingers through her hair, he forgot who he was; his mind could only focus on her warm lips, her thin body pressed against him. Their lips parted slowly; neither wanted to move away.

"Babes…" he murmured as he rested his head on top of hers.

Lydia froze against him. "What did you say?"

Beetlejuice instantly realized his mistake, but it was too late. Realization was already dawning in Lydia's eyes.

"B-Beetle—?"

He ran before she could finish his name. He was out the door and halfway down the first flight of stairs before he heard her starting down after him.

"Wait!" she cried, but he would not stop. He flew down the remaining flights of stairs, pausing long enough to hear Lydia running after him, and redoubled his speed as he ran out of the building.

Even at two in the morning, the streets of New York were busy, and Beetlejuice had to stop on the sidewalk, unable to cross the street. Lydia ran out of the building, frantically looking for him. He would have to cross.

After a cab sped by him, he quickly looked both ways and ran across the street.

Lydia called to him again; he couldn't hear what she said, but when he reached the other side, he looked back at her.

She didn't stop at the sidewalk. She didn't look before she crossed.

"Wait, Beetleju—"

There was no way the truck could have stopped in time, and as Beetlejuice watched through borrowed eyes, Lydia was crushed underneath its tires.

"LYDIA!"

* * *

The truck had stopped; the driver was already getting out, tears forming in his eyes.

"I didn't see her! I didn't see her until it was too late! She just ran out in front of me!"

Other cars stopped behind; horns blasted as those too far away from the accident tried to figure out what was causing the hold up. Cell phones whipped out; several calls to 9-1-1 were made.

Beetlejuice rushed to her side; already he could hear sirens wailing in the distance.

"Lydia?" He grabbed her hand.

"Beetlejuice?" Lydia's voice sounded so faint. She was struggling to breathe.

"Oh, no… Lyds," he said. He was kneeling in a pool of her blood.

"I knew…it was you," she gasped. "I'm sorry."

"Lydia…" He was fighting back tears now. "I'm sorry too."

She was halfway to a smile when her face froze forever, and Beetlejuice knew that the flashing lights signaling the arrival of ambulances were meaningless now. It was too late. She was gone.

He didn't mean to lose control then, but as he raised his voice to scream, he found himself forcefully torn from his borrowed body and back in his familiar dead one. He was back in the Neitherworld, and there was nothing left for him to do but mourn the death of the only living person he'd ever truly loved.


	8. Chapter 8

Gerald Harper came to his senses in the middle of the street, the shine of a policeman's flashlight in his face. They were checking his pulse, asking him questions, but he was too dazed to understand. He struggled to sit up, the flash of sirens disorienting him further. He tried to figure out why his pants were wet. His hands felt sticky.

Looking around, he tried to make sense of the situation. There was a truck stopped in the middle of the road, surrounded by several police cars redirecting traffic. He wondered what all the fuss was about. Then he saw _it_ : the body of a young woman lying nearby. His jeans were soaked in blood. _Her_ blood. The dark shielded him from the gory details, but it was still too much, and he vomited, causing the police to turn on him even more furiously with their lights and loud voices.

He was questioned at the scene by two different cops; when he said he couldn't remember anything, they brought him back to the station for drug testing. They took blood, urine, and hair, which he gave without much concern; he had no clue what they were testing for and just wanted to go home.

Instead, he had to spend the night at the station, trying to figure out how he'd ended up in the middle of the street on the other side of town. The test results all came back negative the next morning, so the station nurse gave him a medical evaluation. Nothing was wrong—no fever, no concussion, nothing—the only problem was his temporary memory loss.

That meant he was free to go, on the condition that if his memory returned, he would call the station immediately. For now, though, he was innocent.

Jack picked him up, took him home, and was wise enough not to ask questions. As soon as Gerald got back, he took a shower and collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

In the Neitherworld, Beetlejuice was inconsolable. He'd turned everyone away and holed up inside the Roadhouse until his mother and Donny forced their way in and refused to leave. It was a true testament to his misery that he said nothing about his family cleaning and cooking for him. He didn't care what they did, as long as they left him alone.

"He doesn't want to see anyone right now," Mrs. Juice said when a visitor showed up one day.

"Do you think he could make an exception?" said Charles Deetz. "I really need to speak with him."

Beetlejuice, picking at a bowl of cereal, overheard and came to the door.

"I'll talk to him, Mom."

Mrs. Juice was too shocked to protest.

Beetlejuice faced his guest and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Took ya long enough to find me here."

"Indeed," Charles replied. "It was quite the shock at first, but now that I've had a chance to get used to it here, I'm so much calmer than when I was alive."

"Good to hear…" Beetlejuice was still not in a conversational mood. "So why'd you come see me?"

"It's about my daughter," Charles began. "You were her best friend, so I figured... well, you've been here for quite some time, so who better to ask how the process works?"

"Process?"

"When will Lydia be here? I want to see her again."

Beetlejuice gave him a strange look; the thought had occurred to him before, especially when he was freshly dead and wondering when some of his friends would be joining him, but he'd never actually gone and figured out the intricacies of the afterlife.

"Well, it's different for everybody, Chuckie; she might go somewhere else."

Charles looked worried. "Somewhere else? Where would she go?"

"No idea." Beetlejuice shrugged. "Most people come through the Neitherworld, but not everyone stays. I don't know where they go… never thought to find out for myself. Sometimes, people die and take years to show up here; they want to get their 'unfinished business' handled first.

"But some people never come here at all. I've checked the records, Chuckie. Lydia ain't here yet, and for all we know, she won't ever come here."

* * *

Delia was not a frail woman. She'd been through more than enough heartache with losing her husband, but losing Lydia was almost too much to bear. She remained stoic while identifying the body, strong and unwavering while making funeral arrangements, and put on a brave face when friends and relatives called, but once alone in Lydia's apartment, she fell apart. She walked through the tiny place, touching objects, wishing that they could tell her more about her daughter. She missed her so much...

She found the camera after she'd started boxing up the bedroom.

Delia waited at the counter the entire sixty minutes of the 1-hour photo development counter at the drugstore. It was pure torture; three rolls of film that Lydia had used... what could be on them? When she checked her watch and asked if the photos were ready, only to be told there was a slight delay, she nearly smashed the countertop. 

She waited to get back to the apartment before opening the packets. Tears streamed down her face as she sat on Lydia's bed and looked at the last photographs Lydia had taken.

As she went through the last pack of pictures, she finally came to one of Lydia, smiling and beautiful. Delia felt her heart painfully squeeze; she hadn't seen her looking that happy in years.

The next picture was of a young man she didn't recognize. Confused, Delia checked the back and noted it was dated the day before Lydia had died.

* * *

Writer's block was the worst. Gerald had been staring at his notebook for ages, waiting for inspiration to strike, but somehow he couldn't muster any enthusiasm about the latest charity event at the Met.

He heard the phone ring but ignored it; he didn't allow himself to answer when he was working.

Jack came in the door with the cordless pressed against his chest. "It's the police, Gerry. They want you to come back in."

Another round of fruitless questioning. He still had no memories from that day; the longer this went on, the more he felt he didn't want that lost time back.

As he exited the station, a woman with red hair looked up at him and dropped her coffee.

"It's you," she breathed.

Gerald was too shocked to say anything.

"Please! If you know anything, if you can tell me anything about my daughter--" She walked toward him.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I don't know anything."

"But you're in the picture!"

"What picture?!"

The woman held up two photos.

"These. One of my daughter, and one of you."

Gerald took the photos in silence, checked the date on the back. September 9, 1999.

"That was a Thursday..." he said.

"Yes." She looked so expectantly at him, he felt compelled to study the photos again.

"Your daughter was so young."

"I know." Delia's eyes softened as she looked at Lydia. "She had such big dreams. Every week, she'd call home and tell me about the different magazines she was talking to. She was always trying to get her photography published."

"Your daughter's the photographer?" Gerald looked at her again. "Wait a minute; did she ever try for _The City_?"

"She mentioned that one," Delia said. "She didn't think she was good enough, but I told her to try anyway."

"I work for _The City_!" Gerald said, thunderstruck. "I was handing in a piece that morning. I... I remember her!" He cradled his head in his hands. "In the waiting room. She was nervous, so I wished her luck. I remember that much. But after that..." He shook his head. "I have no idea."

"So she tried," Delia said. "She went for it after all; did she make it?"

"I don't know, but I could find out."


	9. Chapter 9

Several months passed; spring arrived, and the countryside of Peaceful Pines was in full bloom. Schoolgirls cheerily walked together to Miss Shannon's, giggling as boys rode their bikes past them on the way to St. Christopher's.

One boy, late for school, pedaled his bike as fast as he could past the graveyard; without warning, he began to go faster, the bike moving so fast that he couldn't keep his legs on the pedals.

"Whoa!" he screamed, his legs sticking straight out from the bike. He was terrified, but he made it to school on time.

From the grassy hill above the graveyard, Beetlejuice smirked and blew on his fingertip as though it were a smoking gun. It had been a long time since he felt up to pulling pranks.

_You woulda loved that, Babes._ _I wish I had that idea back when you were… welll, back when you rode your bike._

He wasn't expecting an answer to his inner thoughts, but he looked at the tombstone below him regardless.

Lydia was buried at the top of the hill underneath her favorite tree Spooky. It was a peaceful place; not many people visited the graveyard on a sunny spring morning. Her friends had planted daffodils, chrysanthemums, and marigolds around her tombstone a few weeks after the funeral, and they had sprung from the earth with all the other springtime foliage. Beetlejuice couldn't smell them, but for some reason, the bright colors comforted him. Lydia wouldn't have wanted people to be sad at her grave, especially not here by the tree where she'd had so much fun.

He couldn't remember when this spot became a popular haunt for him; the first time he'd visited had been at Charles's insistence. The poor guy hadn't quite figured out haunting and wanted to know what his daughter's grave looked like, so Beetlejuice was persuaded to go in his place. After the first visit, he'd returned for a second, and several months later, he found himself spending many afternoons there; something about the place soothed him.

He was not usually alone on these visits. Delia came by frequently to water the flowers and make sure the tombstone was clean. Her visits used to be sad, but now she hummed during her gardening. She was doing remarkably well for a woman who'd lost both husband and daughter in the past year. Beetlejuice was almost envious of her.

Bertha and Prudence visited regularly, sometimes together, sometimes separately. Tony used to come too, but one visit, he'd brought a young woman with him who was wearing a shiny engagement ring; he didn't come back after that. Beetlejuice was not sorry to see him go.

Beetlejuice leaned back, still hovering in midair, and looked up at the sky. It had been months, but Lydia was still conspicuously absent in the afterlife. He'd searched long and hard for her in the Neitherworld, but she wasn't there; at this point, she could be anywhere. For now, the closest place he had to her was here at her grave. He never talked there, though; he knew death, and dead people never hung around at their own graves.

Footsteps broke him out of his musings, and he turned over to see Delia and another man coming up the hill. Curious, he made himself comfortable on his stomach and watched.

The man spoke first. "So, this is where she's..."

"Yes." No further words were needed.

The man continued forward alone, leaving Delia at the bottom of the hill. As he reached the grave, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a large book.

"Hello, Lydia," he said, speaking as if addressing a new client. "I barely remember you, but we must have known each other."

_Who is this weirdo?_ Beetlejuice thought before the man removed his sunglasses and he recognized Gerald.

"Anyway," Gerald continued. "I remember when you were showing your work to _The City_. After that, I can't remember, but your mother found me and showed me some of your photography. Your work was good. Really good. I thought I owed it to you to show it to the magazine again, and well..." He smiled. "You got published. Not just in _The City_ , either. It was a really popular article, and there were several requests for an exhibition. Your photography's on display in one of the top art galleries in Manhattan. I've only been once; the tickets sell out so fast, but I was able to get a catalog when I was there."

He put the book down at the grave. "I'm glad I was able to help in some small way to get your art out there. You're famous now."

After a moment for silence, he walked away and met Delia at the bottom of the hill.

Beetlejuice waited until he was gone before picking up the booklet and flipping through. Lydia's photography filled every page: some in color, some black and white; some macabre, some joyful. Lydia was famous. It was something she'd always wanted, something he'd always wanted for her, and now it was reality. Beetlejuice hoped that wherever Lydia was, she knew just how many of her dreams had come true.

He turned to the page featuring the picture he'd taken the day before she died when she'd smiled so wholeheartedly. It almost broke his heart to see her face again. He traced her smile with his finger; if he only had one more chance to make her smile again…

"It wasn't very nice of you to trick me for that."

Beetlejuice looked up. Lydia smiled back at him from where she stood behind her tombstone.

"May I see it?" she said, reaching for the catalog.

Beetlejuice couldn't have handed it to her if he tried; it fell out of his shaking hands as he ran forward and swept her up in a tight embrace.

"Lydia!" He couldn't say anything else, or his voice would crack and give him away.

"Oh, Beetlejuice, I missed you so much!" Lydia said, hugging him just as tight. "I wanted to go to the Neitherworld, I wanted to see you, but I just couldn't. Something was holding me back, keeping me from moving on." She pulled away. "But not anymore. My business in this world is finished."

"Ya mean you were just waiting to get famous?"

"Not exactly," Lydia said, "but it doesn't hurt. I guess I just wanted to be recognized."

Beetlejuice froze. "What now, Lyds? What are you gonna do now?"

"Well, to start, I'm going to stop hiding my feelings and be completely honest." She took his hand. "I want to go home. Home to the Neitherworld. With you."

"Babes…" Beetlejuice struggled to get the words out. "You really wanna spend your afterlife with me?"

"It's OK; we're together now, and that's what matters. I love you, Beetlejuice." And then she leaned forward and, just like when she was alive, gently pressed her lips to his.

They both pulled away red-faced. Beetlejuice could barely keep his body held together; his head felt as though it was about to shoot off like a rocket.

"I…I lo…" He stumbled over the words. "I love…"

"It's OK, BJ. I know. And now that I'm dead too, we don't have to pretend anymore. We're free to be together."

"Yeah," Beetlejuice said as he grabbed her hand. "We're dead; we've got forever, Babes. All the time in the world."

Lydia threw back her head and laughed. "All the time in the Neitherworld!"

He laughed with her, falling down to the ground and pulling her down with him as they both collapsed under giggles and guffaws. With each peal, the years melted away, and it was like they were never apart.

"Hey, Lyds?"

"Yes?"

"Let's go home."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on fanfiction.net (11/4/11, completed 3/24/12).  
> Slowly archiving the chapters here because I want to make a few edits (mostly proofreading).


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